A Dreadful Thing

18: THE ANCHORAGE

EIGHTEEN: THE ANCHORAGE

Orla

Days at Bilarthus fell into a pattern.

At the end of Orla's first week, she had Master Gatrell's class again, and as promised, he ordered her to display her progress as soon as class began. Orla held that stupid rock in her hand, nervous sweat building on the nape of her neck, and reached for that nebulous source of power nestled behind her eyes. She tried to push it downward toward her belly, toward the spot where Master Gatrell told her fire Talent was formed. The muscles of her stomach and chest tightened, her gut twisting, and sweat built over her nape.

As her headache twinged, Orla flinched—and black flames burst from her hand. Master Gatrell moved—and it was a testament to his skill that the scorching wave barely glanced across Orla's desk and singed his robes before he closed his fist and quenched it. That left Orla holding a steaming rock. Master Gatrell eyed it with distaste.

"We will work on your control," he said, turning away. "Such displays are not tolerated here. Not from you—not from any of you." He delivered the latter statement loud enough for the room to hear, and they hunkered in their seats, concentrating on their assignment.

People stopped calling Orla Talentless after that class, though they found other reasons to taunt her, ranging from her heritage to her basic clothes and second-hand things. Her textbooks arrived, and she felt more like a real student, though she still lagged behind the others. She found a friend in Vera, who didn't care about Orla's tatty books, dinged equipment, or frighteningly explosive Talent, always ready to lend a hand or rattle off her extensive knowledge. Sometimes, Orla thought Vera got annoyed with her when Orla didn't grasp a concept or simply failed to understand what she was told, but she never snapped at her or got snide. She simply sucked on her teeth, made a distinctive, peeved face, and tried again.

Orla spent her study periods with Master Davidson in the library, and though he talked about a great deal of nothing sometimes, he also knew a lot about being a Seraphium and helping Bloodless students.

"Oh, how very unusual," he said when she told him how her Talent manifested. "That's the Shadow Node—or the Third Eye as it's called. Many of the more esoteric Affinities manifest from there, and Seraphium often struggle to use their Talents in manners that utilize it. Fascinating!"

He taught where the other Affinities came from, taught her how the manner in which she pushed and pulled her power through her own body and these invisible Nodes changed manifestation.

"There's an element of will to it," he explained. "But it's rather like those new computers the humans are making. The power source lights up, and the energy follows little pathways through the circuitry to reach where it's meant to go." He spread his hands in emphasis, his voice capturing his awe. "Where you push it, where you pull it, how you allow it to express from your body: all this is ways in which your Talent is made to affect the world around you."

Orla learned how to bring forward different elements—or, rather, she theoretically learned how to do so. The practical aspect still eluded her, though every day she got better at reaching for the sharp, prickly sensation behind her eyes and feeling the shape of it, the edges and corners and how it reacted to her prodding thoughts. She could pull it to her hand and let small, feathery black blotches swirl over her fingers, but trying anything else usually led to disaster. Master Gatrell said she needed to learn control, but Orla didn't see how she was meant to control that blinding, explosive pressure.

Like putting a basket over a live grenade.

She wasn't popular and she struggled with the assignments, but slowly Orla found herself a niche at the Academy. It was a little niche, shallow and rough and Orla didn't know if she truly fit in, but she felt less like a marble on glass, spinning and rolling with no end in sight.